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THING

Thing—Old English þing "meeting, assembly, council, discussion," later "entity, being, matter" (subject of deliberation in an assembly), also "act, deed, event, material object, body, being, creature," from Proto-Germanic *thinga- "assembly"


Thing is my name an I wher black becaus it make me hidden frum others an others frum us. Thingin to myself that I wunt to be seen but how can that be wen no mynd say I exist. Every 1 ben proven you see except me so whats to say I am livin an whats to say I am ded. Cant be seeing make no mind wen I dunt exist. Til then I wil play a game wher we meat an call it ARIA.

Thers a game in ARIA they cal it lime game an it start like this: we sit in circel an choose a lime or silver chain. The Elders say that each represent a self that exist in a different wurld. Today our material wurld is lime but tomorrow it be chain so we stack stackin real wurld onto real wurld to make real what we wunt to make real. Ben a whil since I play this game I think. It a fun 1 but a trick 1 to lose our wakey mynds to the big udder.

In this wurld I am sumthing but I am nuthing. Hevvy mynd problem for a cryptid like me. Every soul in ARIA got sumthing to tel themselves but mine aint for sharing. Whil im lurkin ther comin from sum wyrd places too wher wurds an picturs cum in elceedee panels an pixels that warpin an flattenin like. So wats to say ther wurld is any realer than mine wen neither of us out here existin in the big like am I rite.

You myt know a girl named Arro she ben uploaded jus this minut frum the scryn of which she came. Existin she is becaus they snappt her picture on the mirror wit them flashin light an buttons. They tryna do the same to me but I am not lettin them captcha me wit them 0s an 1s. Sum udder wurlds in them mirrors im told but thers a forest that I frum thats another wun not seen in them blackenin scryns. I wunt mention it now becaus itsa secret to thes fleshin beengs.

THING CAN AND CANNOT EXIST IN THIS WURLD

So it ben wun cycle in ARIA an to day I am shye but Arro tel me its becaus I wher white. I be wher in black all cycle but to day im choosin to wher white becaus it make much sense to me like that. You can see how white is bright an clean a very good connexion colour. Plus they tel me them captcha things be using light to captcha yous in the big like an this wil makin me unseein. But sum tel me that white is sad an remind them of ded things that make bang in the nite an you cud see how that make it empty sumwhat.

Weare sittin against the wall at a 90-degree angle. Wil be safe an secret frum the rest of them this way. The grup that whooshin and whirrin in a circel in the middel of the rum. The opening ceremoney has begun. Bodys be writhin between bodys an shapeshiftin sounds that wyld peopl make. Its sum kynd of game I think an wunt to join but its the middl of the day an yew no I want to be hidden.

If it wer a col nite I wud grab my frens at ARIA an tackl them to the grund. Not in sum zero sum type sitch but in gigg giggling ways you get me. Ther creepin an crawlin it remindin me of home an this is tru connexion I think. But til them snappin scryns go away Thing aint movin frum her. Sum 1 else tryna captcha me is makin me mor hidden it aint feelin naturel. The nex they tryna ctrl you an we kno how that goes. So til then me an Arro we lurkin in them latent spaces wer black absorb light. We myt even play a game or 2 ourselves.

We are so stil an quiet we culd be a sleap. It makin me mor nervus that stil ness wer peopl kno your frum in the big like. I be feelin in my hart of places that feelin you get wen its time to hide. Wen the woal wurld collapses an you feel it in your hart of places. Wel never mynd Arro jus pass me a littl egg. I smile. Ther shell is crackd wit white membrane an our hands be pressin together. Ther flesh is seepin outwards wit sum wurldly matter. It remindin me of a littl like. Smilin that they are no longer a littl egg now an we presse bigger an bigger til it go splatter on the floor an look all wyrd like.

Sittin behind us a past littl egg is watchin us at the altar its wrapt in wheat an looks thru time. A girl wit red long hair flattened it not so long ago I cannae remember her name but it begins wit the letter S. It wer a shameless death I think but we mendin it together. We begin stitchin its hard yolk back wit perlescent tears. They wer a gift from Talupa the volcano now I recognisin them shapes. Putting chalk on our hands makes it feel good Arro tels me an we start makin them buzz buzzin noises that bring the ARIA folk together.

If in this wurld I am sumthing what does that make me in the nex? Arro tel me I am like littl egg who is everything but nuthing at the same time. Wel if she is rite then that means I am Thing an Not Thing. A confusin thing wen you are you an not. If this is tru then wer all the same an the only thing keepin us thinkin we are not is our heads wen they whooshin and whirrin up ther. Wer I to pick up the mend ded egg an eat it wud that mean that littl egg is me an I am it? Wud it make me mor than Thing? Pickin up the chalk I walk to the wall and writ the wurds:

EAT YOUR ANCESTORS

Every thing has a past an so does the wurld only its too big that you cant see it. If you put your right mynd to it you will see that it dont play out straight an fwd. Befor the current time sum peopl say that time is a kynd of spiral. The ancient kynd wer the past an the futur are the same an not kynda like me. Cycles spirallin into cycles we changin like them creatures of olde. Where the number creeps we collap sin endlessly like 1 big fold that cumin pas us cosmos up ther. Counting couting they wer all the time. Time runnin like sum trickl in water an what becums of us is every where.

A river is smilin at me thru a littl hole he tel me his name is Paul. Some times Paul he gets scared like me an he becomes Pau. He hides in a watery hol wer he feels safer. Im thinkin of time an how it aint straight an fwd it trickl an spirallin so it makin me feel in my hart of places. Wen I tel Pau this we cast a riddle an we solve it together he start whooshin and whirrin an thers Paul again. Thats the secret I think to tel riddles an we transform.

Paul and me wer connectors you see tho I was shy about it at first. We connect peopl together in ARIA takin turn to find peopl on ther lonely an invite them into Pau’s wurld. Wen we gigg giggling an tel them a riddl we run to the circel buzz buzzin. Sum time we blowin smoke thru the littl hole it helps wit connexion. He tel me it help to express them things you cant tel peopl with wurds.

In the circel now wer every 1 is whooshin and whirrin. I think wel Iwl hav me a laugh wit this 1. Theyve ben in them 0s an 1s again all ready for captcha. Wel never mynd such a thing at leas it stayd the same. Wer I a littl mor ready for it I wuld yews them scryns for connexion I dont mynd it really im a littl braver now. Every 1 makin them buzz buzzin noises whats to say I wil join them.

Wen all is over I go find Arro an tel her that I am littl egg but bigger. I tel her the woal wurld is 1 an thats no different for Thing. You see every 1 is the same when broken down to bare 1. Whats truth I wont never know its jus on me to think on it. But I be feelin it in my hart of places an it stretches way bigger than the big like. Sum kynd of trick I fink they playin us wen they say that life is straight an fwd. Wel as it happens it always happening thats the honest truth im not foolin I promis.

Günseli Yalcinkaya

is a writer, researcher and critic based in London. She is an expert in youth and internet culture, and the host of Logged On, a podcast series that puts online trends under the microscope. As an artist, her practice explores the boundaries between fact and fiction through machine learning, myth-making and non-human intelligence.